This year I’ve been knitting a mystery blanket. Every month, a new little chunk of the pattern is sent to me and I knit a bit more, and by Christmas we’ll have a cosy blanket that should be about big enough to make us all feel cosy! Whilst taking the strong painkillers (see previous post!) I started this month’s pattern… with the wrong yarn. In my slightly altered state, I was capable of doing things such as cooking, cuddling, and reading, so whilst my parenting ability wasn’t hugely altered, my ability to differentiate between two similar yarns was. Some maths: each row was 225 stitches. I did approximately 30 rows.
30 x 225 = 6750
6750 stitches, including some cabling, of which the first 1000 or so were in entirely the wrong yarn. A year’s worth of blanket nearly, with 4 rows that, to me, stuck out like a sore thumb! Here’s a picture:
Maybe you can see it, maybe you can’t, but I could, and despite taking to Ravelry to share my woes, and having several people say “don’t worry, you can’t tell!”, I knew the second I realised it was wrong that I would unravel those 6750 stitches and start that bit again.
Knitting is lovely that way! Once I’ve redone it, nobody will never know there was a problem! Except I will remember it, I have a picture, and even if I didn’t, I’d have a picture in my head and a memory of when my blanket wasn’t perfect. Mistakes happen, it is inevitable. As in life, we go back, we try again, we see if we can get it right. Non-knitters amongst you might not know that when you unravel knitted yarn, it comes back in a slightly wiggly shape, like Super Noodles:
You can’t see the noodles once it’s reknitted, but they’re there and new noodles are formed and the experience of being a blanket will always be part of that yarn now.
You can probably see where I’m going with this… experiences shape who we are. When I finish the blanket, it will be all of the things a blanket should be – warm, cosy, soft… but it will always hold that flaw. Some yarns are trickier to reuse, they split or break or stretch, and so the flaws are more visible, and people are like that too. We hold our experiences, even when they aren’t visible to the outside world. They shape who we are and what we can become, but even something flawed can be beautiful. Our boys carry their experiences; sometimes they wear them for all to see, sometimes they’re hidden amongst the fabric. My noodley yarn will eventually be more of what it has become than what it originally was, and I hope the same for Norman and Marvin, and Mrs S and I will continue to unravel and knit them and ourselves until we get it right.